or so society says
by eloquentfever
Summary: AU. Canon-based. Written for Kurtbastian Bang. Sebastian hits it off with Kurt at the Lima Bean. Sebastian's plan was to charm Kurt into sleeping with him and then leave him. Shocking, Sebastian quickly falls for the brunette, who turns out to be psychopathic sociopath. Apparently, Kurt's playing a game too...Mentions of non-con, drug abuse, character death, twisted!Kurtbastian.


_hey, gorgeous people (Kurtbastianers and Klainers and whoever you are, alike!) so this is my** contribute to the Kurtbastian Big Bang**. before you read this, if it offends anyone, it isn't intentional. secondly, Kurt Hummel fits the criteria fora psychopath and a sociopath. psychopaths do not feel genuine emotion for very long periods of time (which makes Kurt come off as...let's just say he's not the most caring person whilst still maintaining his canon!persona). this was based off a prompt from the Glee Angst Meme, which i lost. anyway, if anyone of you remember reading this on the GAM, link me back so that i can post it there as well. otherwise, just to give credit to that and the fact that the **idea **is not mine. beta read by a friend. :P don't know if she did a good job though. _

_this style requires no capitalisation. it's done on purpose (annoyingly so, Microsoft tells me that everything is wrong and i had to fix it quite a few times. it'll be annoying apparently but it's vital to the imagery. i might have an aversion to capitalisation in my Author's notes but i do not have an aversion when writing (most of you already know this if you've read anything else that's mine that this is the first time i've written in this style.) there are also a TONNE of run-on sentences. done on purpose, of course! anyway! enjoy!_

**_WARNINGS: character death, mentions of non-con, drug addiction and abuse (specifically heroin), psychopathic!sociopathic!Kurt, twisted romance._**

* * *

**or so society says.**

* * *

i've heard of a tale where two midnight lovers were described as _soft_. their movements were so delicate under the beat of the light that their love was almost like silk. **love**. funny word. _odd_. how can anyone describe so many emotions with one. just as odd as calling two midnight lovers soft. or that cigarettes smelled a lot like coffee. or was it coffee smelling a lot like cigarettes.

nonetheless in this universe, there is a uniform. we're all lost. our mere origins, existences, paths, words, emotions and actions are essence of lost people in a vast world. maybe these midnight lovers have been led astray, maybe love is a fabrication of all the emotions convoluted together – or maybe, just maybe...

_it all means nothing._

* * *

the existence of _too_ makes him feel like a contradiction. his hair is _too_ brown. his eyes are _too_ green. his heart is _too_ cold. he says that his mouth is _too_ thin, but then he says that the world is limitless, boundless. Sebastian is aware of the contradiction because if the world is limitless and his aspirations can reach the moon then there is never simply _too_ much yet that's what he's implying when he says that his eyes are _too_ green or that his Mother is _too_ protective. there is never _too_ much of anything, just _too_ little. and there it is a again. _too_. it is an unavoidable world, but then again, all words are unavoidable if you know them.

_too_ – a word almost like **two**. maybe that's a contradiction as well. **two**. a pair. a pair of pants, a pair of eyes, a pair of hands. does it always seem like things come in pairs? root and shoot, peanut butter and jelly, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. shoes come into **two** pairs. there are **two** halves of a brain, and **two** of a heart. then those **two** are divided into **two**. four. four seasons. but four is simply a duplicate of **two**. the expression is always "**two** plus **two**". the equator slices the world into **two**. there are **two** poles, north and south.

when his Mother used to make a sandwich, she sliced it into **two** equal halves. he is born on the twenty-ninth of February, the **second** month of the year.

the brunette in front of him has _too_ long fingers, _too_ big of a smile. his pants are _too_ tight.

Sebastian has always had conquests. maybe he just wants _too_ much. the brunette has a pale body, with _soft_ delicate features. maybe they can be the midnight lovers, and have _soft_ silky delicate sex. maybe they can be something even more delicate – so _soft_ it is fluid, like water. or so _soft_ that it is air. _soft_, by dictionary definition, is easy to cup, compress, mould, not hard or firm to the very touch of the fingertips.

"the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets," he murmurs. he forgets what they're talking about. Sebastian smirks, and they talk about _soft_ things – like silken tofu and coffee. coffee. not hard to compress. water. easy to mould into icy cubes. the brunette's mouth, round. fluffy-looking. _soft_. and Sebastian likes _soft_ things. he bets that the brunette's skin is _soft_.

"well, fingertips," Sebastian's fingertips graze on the unnamed conquest's hand, or rather, the back of. _too_ _soft_. but then again, Sebastian likes _soft_ things, "can you show me just how sexy it gets?"

"you underestimate the power of just the fingertips," the conquest – Sebastian names him 'blue scarf' in his mind – murmurs, as he takes a sip of the non-fat mocha between those oh-so-powerful-fingertips. **blue scarf** takes another sip _too_ quickly after the first, almost like a shot, and shoots a smile at him.

Sebastian smirks at him. "oh? do I? how much power do your fingertips have?"

**blue scarf** stands up, nods his head nearly _too_ gently, and just leaves without an answer. Sebastian is curious person so he follows, "oh, ambiguous, are we?" he says just as they're outside of the coffee shop. Sebastian realises he's still clutching the latte in his hands. the air is fluid, _soft_. Sebastian's eyes meet with **blue scarf's**, and he understands what it's like to melt, become fluid, compressed, because **blue scarf** slips his tender fingertips from Sebastian's cheek to his chin.

"you asked me how much power my fingertips have," **blue scarf** says, as he graces Sebastian's skin just with the touch of his fingertips. "quite frankly, _too_ much."

Sebastian stares at **blue scarf** for a moment, completely stunned as he takes Sebastian's Android from his pants – which are _too_ loose, and punches in his number. Sebastian does the same, snaking his hand into **blue scarf**'s tight, tight pants – they aren't _too_ tight after all. they're just right enough for Sebastian to feel **blue scarf's** thigh when he's taking out his phone.

**blue scarf** writes his name, saves it as Kurt, and in that second, he gives it so Sebastian. Sebastian erases the name with one hand, making Kurt raise an eyebrow as Sebastian saves it as **blue scarf.** Sebastian gives Kurt back his phone, saving the number with _Sebastian ;)_ and a cocky wink-y face. at the same second, like an unspoken language that is far _too_ beautiful for words, Sebastian watches Kurt change the contact information from Sebastian to raspberry truffle.

"raspberry truffle?" Sebastian repeats.

"_delicate_ desserts created with raspberry puree heated over powdered sugar. of course, there's the 'ganache' that is completely made out of semi-chocolate chips and cream – i prefer dark chocolate chips, low-fat cream," Kurt finally says. "you are enchantingly pleasant to my taste-buds, 'unhealthy' some would say, but i suppose after stripping layers of chocolate, there is the soft centre that is made out of raspberries, or so, somewhere infused."

Kurt then looks away, "explain."

"**blue scarf,"** Sebastian repeats the nickname before then explaining it, "because of your eyes. and because you're…_delicate_."

"well, then that makes the **two** of us," a pair of delicate things that are far _too_ delicate for the like. Kurt's hand find their way to Sebastian's but only his fingertips gracefully touche Sebastian's skin before Kurt turns to leave.

"you're _too_ _soft_ then," Sebastian murmurs under his breath.

Kurt smiles and then answers, "_too soft_, _too_ pale, _too_ different," he turns around to look at Sebastian's eyes as those gentle blue eyes twinkle. "simply _too_ much, but sometimes, _too_ much can just make everything seem prettier. you can't paint a pattern with just the right amount of paint – there's _too_ much room for error, unless you're perfect. if you're _too_ much, you can't spread yourself _too_ thin. _too_ much does not exist. it is a fabrication of the mind. we are as limitless as the ocean. the only '_too'_ that exists is _too_ little. also, **two**. that is a pair. and to, that is."

Kurt's fingertips brush over Sebastian's arm, "i am giving me to you. boundless of meanings for the same sound. that, raspberry truffle_,_ is music. it seems to all sound the same. a cover of a song. the notes. but they have different lengths and abilities. they have an endless arrangement. even the same song in the same way sung by a different person would mean a different thing, wouldn't it?"

**blue scarf** leaves with just a small touch of the fingertips. it's all _too_ much to handle – and then the circle starts again. his mind is fabricated. it can only take so much at a little time, it has a limit, then why do his dreams reach to lengths of stars? maybe his dreams don't need stars. they just need to know how to be sultry, _soft_, like **blue scarves**, and raspberry truffles. Sebastian remembers how truffles are _soft_ around the centre, with a hard chocolate coating and then there's the explosive taste of flavour from the raspberry. except it is not a memory. Sebastian's never had a raspberry truffle in his life, but it doesn't matter. because pure imagination can be just as good. like the _too_ soft touch of the fingertips.

* * *

there are little things in this world that make sense. such as exchanges made at five am between two lovers. the midnight lovers evolve into morning lovers and they watch the sun rise together. they revel in the sunny smiles and promises of good days. Sebastian realises that _too_ much of the sun can make him forgo and under appreciate the sun itself. it is only in the days of cold, harsh December that he remembers that he misses the sun. the sun does not miss him. the sun misses nobody. but at the same time, the sun's existence is almost like a bright smile against the world. he's been reading again.

Sebastian thinks that _too_ much of **blue scarf** will make him eventually throw up, or forgo the magic all together. except **blue scarf** weighs constantly on his mind. _too_ much thought in _too _little time. somehow, the hours of the day melt away in moments. flashes. Sebastian suddenly realises that he himself melts, liquidises – liquid things are compressible. they can mould. Kurt is making him _soft_. this also seems to slip to the back of his mind. Kurt explains things, beautiful things.

he takes him out for coffee and buys him _too _sweet frappuccinos that make him want to throw up. he's nauseated and queasy and there are fluttering butterflies in his stomach. sometimes, Sebastian wonders if they're fluttering. When Kurt notices how clammy Sebastian's hands are, just with the very _soft_ grace of his fingertips, Kurt then mutters, "butterflies?"

"fucking tornado," Sebastian murmurs in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere of hurricane fluttery wings.

Kurt only stares at him for a while, studies his eyes only for moments before he asks, "what colour are their wings? considering you're quite the raspberry truffle, french raspberry is far in the region of red. raspberry rose may be just a tad more _delicate_. raspberry glace is by far simply a greyish shade of raspberry – in my mind, i frequently call it wintery raspberry. dark raspberry is quite a glum shade of raspberry, but ironically, it's the one most associated with food colour."

Sebastian stares at him for a moment, as if thinking. "can i be all?"

"wouldn't that be _too_ much?" Kurt murmurs.

Sebastian allows a very cocky smile to find its way onto his lips. "the world is limitless, isn't it?"

"i suppose," and now, Kurt's playing with him, with those coy eyebrows and powder-pink smile that can dazzle the stars. "where would you get that misconception from?"

"a boy," Sebastian murmurs. "sexy fucking brunette."

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but does not say anything. a small amount of colouring rests just at the base of his cheeks as he sips his coffee. "i know you're chasing me to sleep with me and then leave." Kurt finally confesses, without a careless thought.

Sebastian feels caught, but Kurt's indifference allows him to realise that Kurt's just as different. Kurt then bites down onto his lower lip. "it's not a problem. we all have our mental instabilities," he huffs after a moment. "i, for example, am a sociopath."

Sebastian laughs slightly at that. "you're a work of art, Kurt. and that ass isn't bad either."

then Kurt's fingers grace Sebastian's for just a moment. "what's yours?" the **blue scarf** entwines across the raspberry truffle to keep it safe and fresh.

Sebastian's face falls flat as seriousness suddenly surfaces across green eyes. "addiction."

"i suppose we all have a bit of that then," Kurt finally says after some time, "because who cannot get addicted to Jean Paul Gauliter's exquisite designer line of scarves?"

"**blue scarves**?"

Kurt then allows the _softest_ of smiles to grace his lips, almost like the touch of the fingertips. "i suppose. how blue?"

"_too_," Sebastian murmurs as Kurt raises an eyebrow. "the world is limitless. but your eyes are the fucking universe and all its existence. it's _too_ blue."

"you're _too_ kind."

"oh, honey, you have no fucking idea how much of an asshole i can be," Sebastian wants to lean down and grace his tongue against Kurt's bare neck as Kurt fixes his – not so blue – black scarf around his neck, almost as if teasing Sebastian with the forbidden desire. "i want to fuck you."

"and then leave me?" Kurt then adds on, but Sebastian looks like he's thinking.

"maybe not."

"maybe." Kurt then adds on, as their fingertips meet, almost like in a secret dance. Kurt takes another gulp of coffee. Sebastian still thinks that his is far _too_ sweet for his tooth. sometimes, _too_ is right. because his hair is _too_ brown. his eyes are _too_ green. he's _too_ cold. because sometimes, the world isn't limitless. it is a constraint, and the cage is the mind. the number **two**, in numerology, means mind. the mind is a cage. Kurt and him are a cage. those midnight lovers always work in **two**, because they are **two** people trying to be one soul. sometimes, that's _too_ much. because sometimes, the mind can only handle so much before it becomes _too_ much. so this is from Sebastian to Kurt, with the hope of breaking _too_ many limits by being **two** people together.

together is _too_, a dangerous word. it combines all three forms, _too_, **two**, and to. **two** people giving themselves, to each other. when **two** people are together, they become the mind. and there is only so much the mind can handle before it becomes _too_ much and then it all shatters. it collapses. and then so **two** descend, in fours, and threes, and a memory. just a single memory. warm or cold. fuzzy. _odd_. like **love**. all they need to know is the memory is warm like coffee, or soft like silk, the very touch of the fingertips, or a **blue scarf**. the memory might not be fuzzy, but that's alright because Plato said that the bed is remembered as better than it is in reality. when you remember something, it is always better than the actual object, or pure memory. it is when reality is better than memory is when the limit becomes the world, and the infinite has an end. it is when the song becomes the bird, or the water becomes the body. it is everything falling in reverse, but it won't matter, because as long as **two** people give themselves to each other, it will mean something. but only until

_it all means nothing._

* * *

the thing about the world is that it can mean nothing, or it can mean anything. some hold things _too_ close, _too_ dearly, they are overemotional people. Kurt realises he's one at a young age. then there are people who don't hold it close at all. nothing is special, and everything is just time. it is not a birthday, it is just another day. it is not a special amazing person, it is just another person floating in the cosmos of reality. Kurt looks too close at the details, but Sebastian stares at the big picture. sometimes, that's okay. Sebastian realises he's never going to see the world as a whole, but Kurt keeps on dreaming.

the thing about dreams is that they are only dreams because they are not reality. but when they become reality, Sebastian knows it'll lose meaning, then what does he have to dream for? everything is a contradiction. like _too_ or Kurt's eyes – because they're blue, but they're so _soft_ that they are almost as light as air. they look like a completely different colour. Sebastian wonders if glass is a colour when he looks at Kurt's eyes.

"then why do you dream if you don't want to accomplish it?" Kurt says through a mouthful of _too_-mashed buttery potatoes that are as liquid as time. it's their first date. Sebastian doesn't think he's had first dates before, but Kurt insists on taking him out to dinner before they have sex with that sly, knowing smile on his face that is _too_ Kurt. everything about Kurt is _too_ Kurt. and that's what makes it beautiful.

Kurt picks off a sausage quiche, and just before he takes a bite, Sebastian asks him to remember what it tastes like. Kurt shuts his eyes, and through stifles of giggles, Sebastian manages to get "endearingly warm", "_soft_ crust", and "impeccable taste" just before Kurt actually takes a bite out of it.

"it seems to taste better than memory." Kurt murmurs, mouth full of quiche as he eats it. "i suppose the first time is always the best, and you try to get back that memory – it's often the first memory, but you always try to relive the _best_ memory."

Sebastian realises right then that every moment with Kurt is relieving the best memory. every second is just as special as the first, as the middle, and the end where his eyes twinkle and the world just melts at his feet into _too soft_ liquid gold. he doesn't quite understand what it means, but he doesn't dwell on it because a tornado of raspberry butterflies are in his stomach flapping right now. "the dream is that best memory." Sebastian finally says. "if you live a dream, then what do you dream for?"

"i'm a sociopath. i don't dream at all," Kurt murmurs. "i have aspirations that are meaningless. i place them in my life to have something to do but i'm exceedingly bored. i live in a society where murders are overlooked, but a person can have a heated discussion over sexuality. then why do you despise murders so much if you yourself show no care to nothing but the senseless? everyone is selfish and demeaning. i simply state it out loud. i chose to not believe that it is a mental disorder. Doctors take whatever they don't like to hear and convince everyone else that it is a mental disorder. no such a thing exists. it is just something that repulsive humanity creates just so that they can have excuses for _things_, so they can validate doing this or that. there is no validation. there is nothing."

Sebastian stares into Kurt's face for a moment. "you are an _actual_ sociopath," Sebastian just registers this.

Kurt stares at Sebastian for a moment. "of course i am," he murmurs. "i show no emotion to other things. you suppose that i am quite the opposite? i'm quite the apathetic actually. i feign emotion. can you tell? of course not, because apparently everyone in this world is cunningly _depressed_, and _nobody_ understands them, but they're all going through the same thing. emotion is a fabrication of the mind. it is just a reason to validate doing the illogical. that, and their atrocious clothing."

Kurt then bites into the quiche again. "some people deny the existence of God. others believe that there are more. i overall deny the existence of emotion. it's called _misinterpretation_. these butterflies, you think that it's **love** – **love** does not exist, Sebastian. it is _odd_. _odd_ things are called anything just so they can be normal, because humans refuse to believe that there are some things in the world that we just don't understand. they dissect everything and in a few hundred years, one of them finds something that changes their whole idea of thinking. it's called a paradigm shift. it will continue to happen. then why look? this is illogical. this is driven by nothing more than stupidity. but they still do it anyway. these people think that i have a mental disorder that has no treatment. then what is the proof that there is anything wrong at all? they say that level of this or that in your brain is higher – well, the level of cream in this pasta is relatively high, but does that make it any less demeaning to its purpose? it boosts and cuts calorie content, but in the end, it is still pasta. according to these people, it's insane pasta because of the cream content. how does that make any sense?"

Sebastian watches Kurt, as Kurt continues to eat and talk. the words Kurt is saying are supposed to be full of emotion, but Kurt's voice is void of it. his eyes are an empty void of a colour, a lot like glass. "do you know what being a sociopath means?"

Sebastian shakes his head as Kurt laughs. "it means that i supposedly have antisocial personality disorder because i have 'direct disregard of the rights of others' from age fifteen onwards by failing to the communicate with social norms in retrospect of law, as well as deception for personal profit, impulsiveness, aggressiveness, disregarding safety of my own self or others, persistent irresponsibility, and lack of remorse. also, they think i'm a psychopath as well, as those two often go hand-in-hand also my pure and utter rejection and denial of the existence of emotion also somewhat 'tips' them off. they think i've had a mental disorder for years, but they've only diagnosed me quite recently. about a week ago. apparently, you cannot have a mental disorder unless you are eighteen or over. a mental disorder that does not exist."

Kurt chuckles, as he picks off a mushroom from the quiche and eats it alone. "you must think i'm quite the insane one off the batch of men you usually pick up, don't you?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "i think you're fucking insane, but that doesn't make you any less hotter than you are right now."

Kurt then adds, "do you know what they think a psychopath is? which apparently is co-morbid to my so-called antisocial personality disorder?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "but you're gonna tell me all the pretty details any fucking way."

"they think that my charm is quite obviously an onset of my psychopathy, as well as my apparently overconfident personality. i have quite a knack for deceptive traits as well. they also find me cunning and manipulative. my emotionally shallow nature that feels no remorse and refusal to take responsibility for my own actions is also supposedly a trait that is associated with psychopaths. also, i get so incredibly bored that i find the need to manipulate and prod at people with a literal knife. i do not dream. i deceive people by telling them i have dreams and aspirations so i can fuck Rachel Berry when she's asleep whenever i feel like it. possibly even rape her if it comes to it. she will make a big deal out of it, but why? how can i feel sorry when emotion doesn't exist? how can you ask me to feel guilty when guilt does not exist?"

Sebastian picks off just a small piece of chicken from Kurt's quiche and eats it. Kurt then asks, "butterflies?"

suddenly, all of Kurt's words stream into Sebastian's mind. Kurt knows it too. he knows how Sebastian feels when he's around him, like fumbling for change will make him seem like an idiot and like if he says the wrong words, he'll flush. it is **love**, all of the emotions. Sebastian can't help but feel like in some way, the butterflies, or rather the existence of them, are annoying Kurt. maybe they do. Sebastian can't read anything in those glassy eyes, because they are glass, clear, and they only reflect light. Sebastian nods. "dark raspberry."

Kurt takes a fork and then slams it into a french pancake, as ooze of dark raspberry filling seemed onto the fork. Kurt lifts the fork up and Sebastian tentatively leans forward to eat the crepe. his eyes are on the maroon curtain of the stall in the restaurant. they are alone in their small stall, with _too_ many plates with _too_ much food which half of which aren't done. Sebastian's always loved to taste everything. just as Sebastian has taken that one mouthful, Kurt leans closer so that they are sitting beside each other, and Kurt takes another bit of the French pancake, and allows it to slither past his lips. Kurt's hands wander to the back of Sebastian's neck, as he pulls him forward. Kurt's mouth is open as his tongue slides into Sebastian's. their tongues twist. it is reckless, because Kurt throws him against the couch and they're making out one tooth _too_ hard. Kurt's bit him a few times before Sebastian realises that that Kurt's kissing is naturally aggressive. there is no _soft_. even the gentle grace of the fingertips is deceiving Sebastian's mind, but that doesn't matter. nothing does. by the time Kurt leans away, sweat is sticking and slicking down Sebastian's back. the dark raspberry butterflies twist back into a cocoon. the cocoon then morphs into a caterpillar. the world works in reverse. the chest is beating out of his heart. Sebastian's hips find Kurt's hands. and then, just then, Sebastian realises that there the eye in Kurt's blue is a lot like night…and possibly still shine the colour of broken untouched glass.

* * *

sometimes, Sebastian likes to observe things about his boyfriend. in a world of stressed out people, Kurt is very quick to change the emotion he feigns – his eyes are always clear, like glass. he always appears to be feigning something. Sebastian believes it too, that no real emotion exists behind glass. glass is clear. it is only a base for things to mould in. Kurt is the glass, and Sebastian is _soft_. he is the liquid that Kurt is compressing to fill him. but Kurt doesn't need to be filled. he just wants a game. Kurt likes playing games. it always kills time he says. Kurt likes to pick-pocket people's watches, rewind the time and make them panic. once he's pick-pocketed a man's watch, his phone, and even used his phone to tell work he's coming early. Sebastian knows the man. he'd gotten fired and lives off the street now. Kurt sometimes steals women's jewellery because he can. he can get past security lights and hide anything anywhere. Kurt likes shop-lifting a lot, but he's more partial to picking apart things and holding people at gunpoint only sometimes. but in Kurt's mind, it's all a game. they are not real people. he just wants to see them panic about useless things that won't matter in time.

Sebastian has had a falling out with his father about how much time he's been spending with that 'Kurt boy'. His mother doesn't like it either. Sebastian shouts, yells and screams and then he ends up walking to Kurt's house because he doesn't want to take his car in spite. Kurt sits there waiting for him, filing his nails and then he looks up. in that moment, Sebastian realises that Kurt has no emotion glittering behind those eyes at all. they are an endless void. then they flash with a feign of recognition. Sebastian wonders how well of a painter Kurt is because he paints emotions far _too_ lucidly. Sebastian asks him if he's ever wanted to have children.

"why should i?" Kurt tells Sebastian, "they will all grow up with hatred towards me. never really appreciating my value. she will love me more when she doesn't know me. a Father is always missed most when he's absent. otherwise, his actions are taken for granted."

Kurt watches Sebastian sit next to him. the house is empty. this is the first time Sebastian's ever been in Kurt's house – it's small, and it feels like home. "i suppose the only real emotion that we are spun of is hate. and pain. and then we create love and attachment just so we can give ourselves a hope for humanity. we're pathetic – excuse me, _they're_ pathetic. there is no humanity. just a sharp constant pain grilling into my skull. but that doesn't matter because pain is only appreciated when a person dies. when a person's dead, that's when you realise their significance." Kurt then moves towards Sebastian, his breath on his skin – Sebastian can never quite forget how Kurt's skin feels on him, because he's never felt more alive in that second that Kurt's breath is on his skin. "i write the stories we love to read, the beautiful tragedy. the only difference is that i don't use a pen, or paint, i use human bodies like they're puppets and now, they dare to call me disordered."

sometimes, Kurt likes to hold him. he's sure that it means nothing to Kurt, just like nothing ever does. like raspberry truffles, or **blue scarves**. or words. or actions. or small dark raspberry butterflies fluttering. they're turning to french raspberry now, as Kurt leans down and kisses Sebastian's mouth. sometimes, he'd deepen the kiss but most times, he'd trail down his mouth towards Sebastian's neck, and then rest his head as he breathes. Sebastian has never been more aware of someone living, _too_ alive. sometimes they stay that way and in the morning, they'd tip towards the windows, sit together, legs hooked over the other at the enormous window sill. Sebastian always sits on top of Kurt and Sebastian always has Kurt pressing his chin against his shoulder. Sebastian has to slide down uncomfortably for this to happen because of Sebastian's height versus Kurt, but the discomfort doesn't really exist after the first **two** weeks.

Kurt plants three kisses on Sebastian's neck, one after the other in a gradual descending pattern down the side of his neck, before he nestles his chin on Sebastian's shoulder, looking at the world from the window. glassy eyes meet glassy windows. "how does it feel?" Sebastian asks after a while. "to look at the world from where you're at?"

Kurt chuckles softly. "it feels warm."

like wrapping a blanket around their bodies warm. Kurt sees no significance to Sebastian other than his purpose, Sebastian knows this by now, but most times, he likes to pretend he doesn't. Kurt watches young, fleshy girls walk up the stairs, with their pigtails, and small boys play soccer. there are stressed businessmen with stiff brisk walks to their work. the midnight lovers take a stroll in the morning, staring at each other with mirroring eyes. "chaos," Kurt mutters. "the world out there, it is full of chaos. we are in a constant prison with no escape, and i fear that teaching humanity to these people is far _too_ late."

"i thought the world was boundless," Sebastian says after a while.

"it has no limits." Kurt murmurs. "to the sheer amount of atrocious insanity and mismatched clothing."

Sebastian realises he's not afraid of Kurt. he just wants to feel Kurt all the time – Kurt's _too_ soft fingertips are, how honest those reflected blue eyes are, and maybe somewhere on the inside, he realises he's just making up a story in his mind because he wants Kurt to admire every part of him. he wants Kurt to love him, but Kurt cannot feel. he doesn't feel **love**. Kurt cannot **love** him. "do people think you kill other people?" Sebastian's asked, as Kurt's hands go to Sebastian's sides, just to feel him. Sebastian realises Kurt likes to touch him quite a fair bit. he doesn't know how to feel about that either.

"they think that i do. most sociopaths and psychopaths don't quite kill people," Kurt says with a large amount of spite in his voice. "they 'toy with others' emotions. these Doctors and this society doesn't quite understand that just because i don't care about person x's rotting corpse, does not mean that i will go out and try to kill people for my own vices. most psychopaths are actually quite charming. they have IQs that are astoundingly well. they are intelligent people. the only thing that makes me different from you is that i cannot feel. that is not a disorder. that is a state. just because i cannot feel does not mean that i sit here doing nothing or feeling nothing. i run after conquests for thrills. i like tampering with people's hearts, their emotions – i realise that that is far more damaging than murdering them anyway. most people underestimate emotional pain and you do not go to jail for breaking a girl's heart. you go to jail for murder. it's only a question of how smart or stupid you are to realise this. do you understand the cycle, Sebastian?"

Sebastian doesn't answer, and Kurt's eyes glitter a colour far _too_ light to be blue. "these Doctors feel like the normal is grieving for someone after they die. it's stupid to grieve for someone because grief will not bring them back. people feel sad, and it is senselessly unnecessary. because you feel sad for nothing that exists anymore. it is not even a matter of emotion. it is a matter of stupidity. i'm sure that your wife or your tenth husband or whatever whore you managed to have five or six children with does not want you to be grieving, or so society says. they do not want you to feel pain over their departure yet they are stupid enough to do so."

Sebastian feels stoic. his fingers feel nothing. his eyes stare into Kurt's and he wonders how something so beautiful can have no emotion at all sometimes. he doesn't think he remembers most times. "let's go to my room, Sebastian. i want to give you something."

Sebastian nods his head and Kurt runs his thumb across Sebastian's mouth. "you're gorgeous." he swoons with a twinkle in his eyes.

"do you tell everyone you're a psychopath when you meet them? definitely a sure fire way to get them into bed," Sebastian mutters sarcastically, but he still can't feel. he wonders if he wants to feel anything at all.

Kurt thinks about it. "no, mostly, i like making up stupid stories, like the fact that i'm apparently a corporate business man that wants to have sex with them and promising a raise to their father or mother's salary – after all, i do enough research about their parents to make it pass as completely true." he smirks, and then leans down to kiss Sebastian, ushering him to their room. in the room, they sit in the dark. and in the darkness, Kurt turns off the lights and pulls Sebastian into the bedroom. "why did you tell me you were a psychopath anyway? did you think i'd get turned on by it?"

"your father teaches you that emotion is useless all your life," Kurt finally spits out which makes Sebastian's heart stop at the accuracy of the information as Kurt runs a hand across Sebastian's shoulder. "you are a typical case. you idolise your father. you'd probably find the fact that i can't feel anything at all, a turn-on, according to Freud."

Sebastian finally drops down towards Kurt, and stares at him. Kurt grabs onto Sebastian's shoulder and pulls him down to mash their lips together. Kurt tastes like a butterfly. butterflies look _delicate_. his mind wonders if Kurt's lips are just that _delicate_. it wonders if they are just _delicate_ or _too_ _delicate_. Kurt moves away slightly and stares at him. "i wanted to give you something," he turns around, opens up his drawing and through a large amalgamation of neatly pressed scarves, some were just nice **blue scarves **– he pulls out what appears to be a cigarette but Sebastian's smart enough to know that it is not just a normal cigarette.

"what's that?" Sebastian realises his voice has no fury, just inquiry.

"it's a heroin cigarette – you can inject heroin into tobacco after all," Kurt lightly says. he puts it between Sebastian's fingertips. his fingers grace against Sebastian's knuckles far _too_ delicately. and then Kurt leans upwards to move their lips into the _soft_est touch Sebastian's ever felt. "don't lie to me and tell me you don't want to know what the rush feels like." Kurt leans upwards again and kisses Sebastian's lips again, caressing his lips with the brush of his tongue and a click of that _soft soft_ mouth. Sebastian gives in. he reluctantly brings it to his mouth and he smokes. he watches fumes and things. he watches the scarves on the drawer. he counts them in his mind. he watches Kurt. it's a haze. everything's a beautiful haze. his mind is penetrated with a beautiful emotion that spins out from somewhere. Sebastian doesn't focus on it too much. his mouth is _too_ dry. his skin is _too_ warm.

Sebastian stares up at Kurt whom is taking off his pants. Sebastian takes another drag. the world is so surreal right now. everything's a dream. nothing can hurt. Kurt pulls Sebastian into his arms. he's never been taken before by anyone. Kurt kisses his shoulder like Sebastian's made of glass. he's never felt more wanted in his life. "_shhhhh_, i'll take care of you right now," Kurt murmurs, unbuttoning Sebastian's shirt and allowing it to drop. Sebastian does nothing. all he does is feel Kurt's lips on his skin, tasting him – he vaguely remembers that his shampoo, conditioner and shower-gel are infused with strawberries and raspberries. Kurt undresses him like a mother does her child, _soft_ly at first, cautious of every button – he pulls Sebastian against the bedside. Sebastian feels his nipples stiffen against the feel of his cold body on that warm bedside. Sebastian feels Kurt take the cigarette from Sebastian's fingers – just feel. not even see. and bring the cigarette to Sebastian's lips. somehow, he's lost all thoughts of time. "take another," Kurt says, and Sebastian does. that last one is the best rush, a rush that cannot be explained.

Kurt pulls himself on top of Sebastian. Sebastian doesn't know how something so hard and aggressive can make him feel like floating. Kurt's in him in ways that Sebastian doesn't think a person can be in another person. he dances on a path and sings in another. he's floating in the cosmos but he's never left home. he's somewhere in the darkness and burning in the light. he's never felt anything so beautiful in his life, and he wonders if it's a dream, but it feels like it's _too_ much. for once, it's not _too_ much. not really. for the first time, the feelings erupt from his body boundlessly. limitless. he floats on the promise of possibilities. he can feel, taste, and smell **blue scarves**, and bury himself in raspberry truffle scented candles and memory. and then Kurt holds him_. and he swears that the moonlight lovers have nothing on them._

* * *

Kurt likes owning him. Sebastian realises that Kurt has had enough decency to tell him that he is sociopathic, a psychopath, and Sebastian realises that for once, he's never felt like anything could be more real than they are. Sebastian's always fucked boys and left them, but with Kurt, the only person he couldn't, he's inclined to feel the pain. he keeps on coming back, and Kurt gets him injecting. his skin is a mass of puncture wounds he hides with his Warbler blazer. he's rarely home anymore and when he's at home, he feels an incredible thirst from dehydration. in Dalton, his mind is a swirl. David tells him off for sounding like shit and threatens his position in the Warblers. all he can think about is magic, and raspberries. sometimes, he stares outside the window just to catch someone wearing a **blue scarf**. the french raspberry butterflies flutter away and now, they're twisting in some sort of darkness. his raspberries are a glace raspberries butterflies now, twisting into something that is not a butterfly. there is only concrete apathy.

he doesn't feel anything unless he's with Kurt. the world passes by him and he doesn't care at all because in reality, reality is _too_ dull and horrible, and he just wants to rewind his realities with Kurt, jumping from universe to universe like they own the world together. together, as in **two**. as in both. he's never had anyone made him feel like they were they only **two** that existed in this far _too_ crowded world.

"do you even take baths anymore?" a frazzled Nick once asks.

he doesn't remember. it's like time is slipping away and he's stuck frozen in one last bit. he smells like shit, he realises and his hair is slicked back with oil and grease from days of build-up. he finally forces himself to take a bath just so people can tolerate him. he's worn the same blazer for the last three days, and Jeff points it out as well. Sebastian snips back darkly. "what if in reality i'm poor and this is the only blazer i have? will you shut up?" Sebastian coldly asks, and then Jeff's eyes glitter with some sort of undefinable emotion. sometimes, Sebastian realises it's not because he can't define the emotion – it's because his mind doesn't want to. concern, or confusion is far _too_ much for him. he's just a stupid boy that is in love with a psychopath who will never love him back. and in the end, he always keeps coming back, because he **_needs_** Kurt. he **_needs_** him and Kurt knows it too. Kurt likes owning Sebastian. he likes reminding him that he's nothing more than Kurt's whore when he calls him up in the middle of the night, asking him if he wants to shoot up heroin. Sebastian always leaves. he catches his mother crying near the sink because she doesn't know what's wrong with him. he wants to laugh and tell her he doesn't know what's wrong with him either, why he's so fucked up.

he just doesn't care. he's fixed on getting drugs from Kurt and having sex under the moonlight. Sebastian realises that sometimes, he wakes up with bruises. his neck is littered with puncture marks. it's ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit outside and Sebastian's wearing a coat to conceal everything around his body.

"aren't you hot?" a boy asks him, sitting beside him. Sebastian glances so he knows that he's speaking to Nick. Jeff follows him in a constant fashion, sitting beside Sebastian. there's worry etched in their eyes, worry for him. Sebastian doesn't know why people care about him, when he's reminded every day that he's just Kurt's personal whore. Sebastian depends on Kurt all the time. Kurt gives him his heroin dosage, the one he so desperately **_needs_**. he **_needs_** to fly away in a soundless echo. it scares him what he does to himself sometimes. but sometimes, he just doesn't care anymore. he just wants to fly away with Kurt in their bed of roses, and dark raspberry fluttering butterflies. he cannot motivate himself enough to think of other things he wants to do. all he wants is Kurt – no, all he **_needs_** is Kurt. the rest is irrelevant. he is in love with someone whose used his history of addiction – Sebastian's only mentioned it once, just a silver of a moment on his tongue, but Kurt's remembered it. sometimes, it amazes Sebastian just how smart Kurt is, how he's hidden everything from his father. how his act makes him the last suspect in the world. sometimes, Sebastian is still swooned by Kurt's charming fraud allure – no, not sometimes. all the time. because he wants to believe it. no, he **_needs_** to believe it.

"no, go away. you talk far _too_ much for my liking," Sebastian snaps irritably to the innocent Nick that has literally done nothing but ask him a simple question. the thing about abusing heroin - Kurt tells him that most boys crave sweets, but Sebastian takes large enough doses that he's always nauseous. he cannot eat. sometimes, he circles around the kitchen bringing food to his nose and trying to debate what will make him throw up the least. this is not a rare occurrence. Kurt always tells him that Sebastian always takes hits that his body isn't even used to. because he doesn't want the high to ever end – he wants to get so high that he's going to fly straight into the moon and break it into **two** pieces. **two**. the best things are always in **twos**. he overdoses far _too_ much. his fingernails are tinged blue, his mouth is _too_ dry for words, and his stomach is always cramping randomly during the day and he just waits for it to pass. he just waits for time to slip between his fingers so he can see Kurt again. he doesn't know what he is anymore, and the idea of Sebastian Smythe seems like a much _too_ strenuous of an act. he's _too_ tired to be who he thinks he is. his dry humour and sexual quips to every Warbler do not exist anymore because he's just become cold and cynical. he does not care about sex but has it every day so that Kurt can give him his doses.

"Sebastian, you _barely_ act like yourself. yes, you weren't exactly handing out free hugs, but you were never this bad. you snap at everyone and everything. you look like shit, excuse me for using that statement , but you do," Nick finally addresses without cutting corners and sugar-coating things. "if we don't remind you that you haven't showered or eaten in days, you wouldn't even _bother_. your grades are shit and if you don't pick up your act soon, you will flunk. we'll lose regionals because you suck at singing right now—"

"do i look like i fucking care?" Sebastian says after a few moments. "if you want to help me, you'll give me a fucking belt because my pants are falling down enough as it is."

"and whose fault is that?"

"of course, because my goal is apparently to be as emaciated as possible," Sebastian snippily responds and Jeff stares at him for a long time before he asks, 'is it?' in a really low voice. "fuck you, Sterling! i'm not anorexic or some shit. i just can't be bothered with it."

"can't be bothered with what? eating? showering? or maybe it's living?" Nick spits out and Sebastian stares at him. he really realises in that moment, he can't be bothered to live. he has no motivation to live, but he has no motivation to kill himself either. he just doesn't care anymore. it's just as simple as those words, and nobody can just understand. Sebastian shakes his head, and he's sure his eyes have never been so icy.

huh. icy eyes. Kurt has really icy blue eyes. they're beautiful. and they kill things. things like Sebastian. he's always thought it was a metaphor, but now he realises that he's going to die if he keeps on going like this. a part of him cares, but another part of him just wants to live in a surreal ecstasy forever. he doesn't how to feel about that either. it's a mass of conflicting emotion in his body and he's _too_ exhausted to decipher any of it.

Sebastian doesn't count on Nick striking him. Jeff jumps back and holds a hand over his mouth. Sebastian feels a sting for a moment, and then he stares at Nick. he laughs, sounding like a maniac. then he stops laughing and with hard eyes, he says. "i'm going to _kill_ you," and he doesn't understand why he's snapped, but he charges towards Nick. they're an entanglement of **two** people trying to untangle themselves enough, and Jeff puts his hands over his mouth before he calls out for David. or Trent. or anyone. he calls out and that's when Nick hits Sebastian in the stomach. the nausea is _too_ much and he hits the floorboards. before he hits the floorboards, he realises he will pass out, because his body will not be able to take it, and then he feels his mind shatter internally as his head meets concrete. he hears the sound of people running. he cannot keep put. Nick drops towards him and the fury disappears, and the concern reappears. Sebastian just stares at him. he's never known Nick had such, such distinctively coloured eyes. that was his last thought before the world took him into its arms, and made everything go out like a light. but the light was a lot like candle light and when it went out, it was just as peaceful.

and in that moment, it all meant nothing.

* * *

he wakes up in a hospital bed. they tell him to pee in a cup. his mother holds onto him for dear life. he does normal random tests. when they had to slip him into a hospital gown, they notice the pure emaciation and force him to weigh himself. he'd never thought he'd seen one-twenty-one in his life. he's six-foot-two. this should never be okay, but Sebastian finds himself not caring. Kurt likes it. Kurt likes banging a bag of bones, that makes him want to laugh sometimes. Kurt texts him and he's in the hospital. he asks him to meet up with him tonight because he misses him. Sebastian's still in a haze. his father is staring at him with a chalky look of disappointment on his face. he remembers Kurt's words and realises it's true. his father's stoic face reminds him of Kurt. he likes it. he wants his father's approval, but most of all, he wants Kurt's approval. he is pathetic. in all essence, he's just _too_ pathetic. he wants to curl up into a ball and cry because all of his thoughts are distorted and feel like they're coming from someone else's mind. he hasn't just lost everything to Kurt, he's lost his identity _too_. and he still wants to go back. he still wants to feel Kurt's lips on his skin. he still wants to feel **loved**.

heroin stays in the urine for one to **two** days. Sebastian abuses the drug shamelessly all the time right now. he knows the tests will come back positive. when they do, he faces his father's face, and his mother's pleas. he feels numb and they promise they'll fix him but _there's nothing to fix, you fucking whore. i'm fine. i'm just fucking fine. _he'll die in the fire. he'll die faster if he keeps losing weight like this – he can only weigh so little. he's always been underweight. he's always weighed _too_ little, but now, he's just _too too_ little and it makes him want to puke, but Kurt likes it. he likes to trail his fingers down his bones and trail his collarbones with butterfly kisses. Sebastian knows that most of all, Kurt likes the thought that he'd done that to Sebastian, that he's made him vulnerable and small. that he's made him look _too_ fragile, _too_…

_too_ delicate, _too soft_. _too_ little of Sebastian and _too_ much of this thing that Sebastian can't even understand. he doesn't think he wants to. he doesn't think he cares about it. when his mother's sobs quieten down, she just asks him one question, "why?" her voice is so low.

Sebastian shuts his eyes. it's real now. everything is real. he's addicted to heroin because of a boy. it's never felt real before. their worlds weren't supposed to collide with one another. now, his stomach hurts. now, he doesn't know he should feel about anything anymore. "i think i'm in love," he whispers but she's quieted down to hear this. she runs her fingers through the hair he hasn't washed in days. "i think it killed me."

"he's delusional," his father simply states.

"_shhhhh_," his mother shushes his father and looks at him like he hasn't changed one bit. he hasn't had that look in so long. that _oh so typical of Sebastian _look he'd been so used to getting. "you can't kill yourself for love Sebastian. it's not worth anything."

Sebastian shuts his eyes and says in one lucid line that sums up what he feels right now, "it's worth _everything_."

"enough of this. you are _not_ a fool for love. you used to laugh at these people. you cannot be one of them." his father sternly says. Sebastian has never been so weak as to shake at the impact of his father's words. he doesn't know why he's shaking. he doesn't know why he's weak. it's _too_ cold in here and he's wearing _too_ little layers. "i refuse for you to be one of them. what did he do?"

"he told me to try it…that he'll take care of me. it's nothing i've felt like, it's like a dream i've never had coming true, just…perfect," Sebastian spills out his words. he realises how pathetic he sounds even to his own ears. his voice is low, it's the voice he uses when he disappoints his father and fears talking back to him.

his mother stiffens. "did he ever hurt you?"

"Nathalie, you _must_ be a fool not to realise that injecting enough drugs in his system to turn him into this state is more than just hurting," his father bellows out in a cross of anger and superiority. his father recognises the look in Sebastian's eyes. "but there is something. what did that whore do to you? i will have him arrested for even doing such a disgusting act of—"

"when i'm not happy, when i told him that i **loved** him but we had to stop, that i had to leave, he just cuts off my heroin supply," he whispers unfortunately. "i've never hurt so bad. from the withdrawal. i always came back. i beg for him, like his own personal bitch, to give me his fix. that i'll do anything. he likes to shoot me up when we're fucking. i get such a high. he gets such a high off me being his little bitchlet. i don't care about it. i just don't care about how i fucking look, or who fucks me or if i want to be fucked or anything. i just don't care."

"you little whore," his father chimes in.

"_shhhhh_," his mother wraps his arms around him, and places her hand against his head. "he's just hurt. this the first time he's ever **loved** anything. he's just so confused."

"oh, most people are confused, Nathalie, but how many of them get into drugs and become a drug dealer's personal booty call? how _many_?" the father snaps coldly. nobody says anything, his mother holds him affectionately, then they have to leave. then Sebastian just breaks out, runs away. he's never hit so many Doctors before. he's never thought he'd hit a medical health professional. he just runs and runs and his legs are _too_ breakable. they call the police after him after he remembers Kurt's voice detailing him how to get out without being caught if it ever comes to that. he's never been so reckless but he _**needs** _a fix. he _**needs** _Kurt. then at that moment, that one single moment, he realises so many different things right at that moment.

he walks in and finds Kurt standing there. and then he just doesn't know what to do. his body gives away. he cries. he's spent five minutes crying to a boy who'd never care. he doesn't know how to feel. he just curls up into Kurt's arms and just stays in this silence. they stare at each other. if they find him, they're going to put him into rehab. Kurt has a stash of five hundred grand underneath his bedside from stealing and dealing. he gives Sebastian a good portion of it and tells him to meet him by the airport with an excited smirk on his face. he's a psychopathic sociopath and all Sebastian can think about is how beautiful it is that they're running away together. _too_ beautiful. they run off into an unclear distance with no destination left in sight. Sebastian remembers things like fingertips and touches, raspberry truffles and **blue scarves**.

Kurt's always wanted to do something completely impulsive like this. Sebastian knows that Kurt just wants the thrill; the thrill of the thought of his father's confused face as he picks off the note on the fridge that writes out the truth in pretty words. Sebastian's watched Kurt write that note with a stoic face, he knows every single letter on that note, that single sentence, perfectly – because it hurts. it hurts, _nobody ever quite understands. _and nobody ever will understand Kurt.

Kurt likes games. Kurt likes playing with people and toying with their emotions. he likes reminding people that they are useless. he likes seeing people break. he likes playing games. Sebastian's his favourite game right now and Sebastian knows it better than anyone ever could. he realises he's been used multiples of times, he realises that he is nothing more than Kurt's whore to Kurt himself, but he doesn't care. he doesn't care because they're running away. **two**. and into the night. the midnight lovers had become them, and they go off into the night until they're nothing. nothing more than a promise of _too_ much, **two** people; Kurt to Sebastian and Sebastian to Kurt.

_and then, it all means something._

* * *

"am i a fucking game?" Sebastian bluntly asks Kurt as they're in an airplane together. the partial pressure makes Sebastian believe he has no ears at all. he looks at Kurt just to see something. searching for something, maybe something is better than nothing. maybe something is better than everything. he looks for a hint of any emotion glitter in those blue eyes, even if they're fake, as always. there is no glitter, no shine, nothing at all, and Kurt's lips twitch into a thin line.

"you're the best game," he ensures Sebastian.

"have you ever **loved** anything?"

Kurt snorts and then shakes his head. Sebastian just shrugs his shoulders. "you suck," Sebastian murmurs.

"oh, no, _you're_ the one that sucks," Kurt's lips twitch into some sort of a dark smile that's _too_ beautiful to be a smirk but _too_ vicious to be a smile. "apparently, i'm not the one who bobs their head up and down a length they cannot handle."

"i can handle you, Hummel," Sebastian rolls his eyes.

"you can show me when we land," he promises. Sebastian knows the logical thing is to hop off that plane, hop off that world, go somewhere sensible but he's with his drug dealer of a boyfriend – is Kurt his boyfriend anymore? – and they're going to go to New York and they have no plans or aspirations and that's just about it. his mind repeats the word and and and and because they are just a mass of connection thoughts. they have no relation to each other, but that's how the world looks like, a mass of sentences that are just together for no reason at all. Sebastian just wants to understand. he can't. and that hurts.

Sebastian looks up at Kurt with those glossy green eyes. they're supposed to mean the world to Kurt, but they are just as mindless as the key chain that Kurt is playing with as they're on the plane. everything's surreal again but the kind of surreal that fucks Sebastian over because this surreal makes him realise that the reality he knows no longer exists. he will not wake up to hear his mother singing anymore, or to see that french toast with maple syrup on top of his plate. he won't ever see his father's lips curl up in that way. he won't ever call Jeff Malfoy again. he won't ever snap at Nick. he won't be a Warbler anymore. he won't get coffee from the Lima Bean anymore. his reality. it's gone. everything has gone away. now, he's just scared. he's scared and he wants his mother, and he wants to turn back. he's nauseous and he wants to throw up whatever he's eaten in the last twenty-four hours. he wonders why he's so much of a fuck-up. he wonders the gravity of his fuck-up. he stares at Kurt whose asleep and wonders how he can just leave everything like that. he wishes he can, but memories lay on him like a shadow. he stares at the outlines and pretends to understand the bleak colours. it is a mere reflection of how much he'd fucked up this time. that's when the tears start to well up. his eyes fill up with hot, fresh tears. he lets out a small, strangled sob. he feels Kurt's hand on his shoulder and looks up. in Kurt's lips, there's a twitch.

it's a smile.

* * *

he's curled up in Kurt's arms. they're in some cheap motel. he hasn't stopped crying yet. he stands up when Kurt's asleep and goes to the full-length mirror on the front of the room. he slowly undresses himself. he stares at his body-or whatever's left of it. he's always thought you can always look better and thinner. he looks like shit. emaciated, horrific shit. he feels like he barely exists. he's invisible. he counts twenty-two of his ribs, eleven on each side. he looks away after a moment and shakily calls room service for anything that looks good on the menu. he eats food that doesn't quite taste like home. he asks Kurt about how he thinks he looks like. Kurt smirks and tells him he looks sexy. he doesn't look sexy. he looks like a diseased disordered skeleton that hasn't heard of proper hygiene. everything scares him far _too_ much. he doesn't know what to do. he's never felt so scared about being so reckless.

that's the first time Sebastian's ever denied sex from Kurt. Kurt didn't like it at all. Kurt's pushed him up against the bedside and fucked his brains out regardless of Sebastian's pleas. Sebastian thinks that's rape. it's all blurring to him. Kurt stares at him all of the time and Sebastian wonders if Kurt's ever had an urge to poke him with a stick. he looks nothing like himself. he acts nothing like himself. he hates himself. more than anything, he hates what he is. how dependant he is on Kurt, and Kurt's heroin and how he clings onto him like a whore waiting for his fix. actually, he _is_ a whore waiting for his fix. he is nothing. nothing to anyone. nothing to himself. his Facebook is full of people asking him where he is. his phone is full of calls from his mother and three from his father daily. Kurt's phone is always buzzing too but they don't answer. they're away from that world. Sebastian doesn't want to answer not only because he's scared shitless, he thinks that if he hears his mother's voice he won't be able to hold it all inside anymore and would just explode into tears.

"you're _too_ weak right now," Kurt mentions one day as he stares at Sebastian looking down at the burger in front of him. Kurt's made it. it's full of vegetables, and a bun that supposedly tastes 'amazing' though Sebastian's been staring at it for the last eleven minutes wondering if it's radioactive shit.

"i disgust me too," Sebastian murmurs after some point, curling up his knees to his stomach. "i'm fucking repulsive."

Kurt's lips twitch into a small smile. "i've never quite said you were _repulsive_ now." he kisses his cheek. there's still that magic that Kurt's always carried around with him that seems to make Sebastian's heart tinge even in this never-ending sadness.

Sebastian looks up at Kurt. "i want to go back home," he decides.

Kurt's eyes go hard. "no, you don't," he snaps coldly. "you're staying here with me. we are fine together as it is. you don't need your horrible family pretending that you are perfect."

Sebastian's heart races. he feels angry now. he stands up and for the first time, he's stared at Kurt. "well, fuck you."

Kurt's shocked, but then smirks and then says. "gladly," and pushes Sebastian up against the bedside. Sebastian doesn't care. he throws Kurt's shirt across the room. they have sex, and Sebastian feels like he's a bit of himself again as he lies into Kurt's arms. Sebastian's still biting at Kurt's ear like the little whore he is, or so his father would say and he doesn't give a damn. the world looks different. Sebastian thinks of leaving, he honestly thinks of leaving but he knows that he can't even if he wants to. he can't. the heroin numbs him right now, and fills him with a euphoria he doesn't deserve. the midnight lovers are as fucked as shit. in all of his life, Sebastian Smythe doubts he even he even has emotions and now, he does. he has this hardness in his chest weighing him down, this dizziness that can't be fixed with a muffin and a cup of coffee. this feeling…it's beautiful really. if he thinks about it, it's beautiful. Kurt's made him feel. and he realises it's better than the numbness, the lifelong numbness. it's better than everything in this world. _it's so fucking beautiful_.

that's when Sebastian laughs. or breaks. whichever first.

it's only one day he finally asks Kurt if he's ever taken any drug before in his life. Kurt's eyes are hard as he finally says. "no," his voice is thick and _definite_. "it's useless. i can't feel a thing so why bother?"

Sebastian stares at Kurt for a moment just to try and understand something. "why are you killing me?"

it's a question that's been in his mind since this whole thing's started. Kurt's lips twitch softly. "because you're beautiful," he says it with dazed eyes. Sebastian's pathetic enough to feel like his whole world is tipped on its axis when Kurt's said that. "and things are most beautiful when they are dead. i do not have emotions, Sebastian, but i can see things. and i know that death is one of the prettiest things in the world. it is an everlasting kind of beauty. to die and become part of this world again…it is a magnificent thing."

Sebastian stares at him for a while and then a smile twitches. "so you're turned on by a bunch of corpses?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow but then shakes his head. "no, i am turned on by the thought of something being completely alive when it's dead. it's an oxymoron. most things look mostly beautiful at their death. this world – this culture – it loves stories like Romeo and Juliet, West Side Story, Moulin Rouge… things like that, Sebastian, things that end in nothing but a shred of blood and supposedly love. there is no love, Sebastian, but there is a promise."

"did you give me a promise?" it's a simple question.

Kurt nods his head slowly.

"what is it?"

Kurt seems to think for a moment, but it's not thinking. Sebastian knows that face by now. it's not thinking. it's just placating, wandering off to different things. "that i'll take care of you," Kurt hears Sebastian snort as Kurt pulls Sebastian's head in his hands, 'and i am."

"i want to give you a promise."

"is that so?" Kurt snorts with a small amount of laughter but Sebastian's face remains stoic and serious.

"i promise that you'll come close to being in **love** with me than anyone else in this world," and with that strength in his eyes, Kurt almost believed him. he laughs, because he doesn't know how to feel about that. they sit down together beside windows, and talk to each other about art. Sebastian realises that Kurt likes art. he likes things that are beautiful and he still thinks that Sebastian is beautiful. Sebastian's promised Kurt that they'll be not only midnight lovers, but they'll become sunset lovers as well. they'll own time with their **love**. it's just written between the lines, in the stars, glittering. Sebastian realises that Kurt loves pretty things, so for Kurt to feel anything close to love, then there must be beauty. because some things are so beautiful than they make Kurt stop and think. and Sebastian wants Kurt to think – about him, haunt him in his thoughts, like a lucid beautiful image being unravelled, unveiled.

Sebastian realises that sometimes, there is _too_ much beauty, _too_ much, and that sometimes, they become an emotion. Kurt will realise this one day. maybe feel something a lot like pain, something close to that. pain for him, pain for hurting him. Sebastian doesn't know if he's dreaming anymore. he plans out things lucidly in his mind. he tries to think of it.

Kurt takes him out to see the stars sometimes. they're beautiful _too_.

"what happens if there is _too_ much beauty?"

Kurt looks at Sebastian and those blue eyes travel at the speed of light. "there is no such thing as _too_ much," he says with definitely. "sky's the limit, **love**."

"i thought you didn't believe in **love**," Sebastian finally says, and the walk _too_ close together, yet not at all because Sebastian likes being close to Kurt.

"i don't believe you exist," Kurt murmurs softly, as he places a hand on Sebastian's. Sebastian wants to laugh, because that sounds so perfect, but it's _too_ perfect. _too_ perfect to be real. sometimes, reality is overreacted and they want to get lost in dreams. sometimes, they do. it's nice how they do things in **two**. "your beauty astounds me, Sebastian."

"what's the most beautiful thing about me?" his lip twitches. "i think all of me is pretty hot."

"cocky, aren't we?" Sebastian watches Kurt's lips twitch in that **_beautiful_** way. in that moment, Kurt becomes the definition of the word that it needs to be emphasised, because in that moment the whole world explodes and they're floating in his eyes. sky's the limit, right? _soft _and **love** and most words aren't underlined or emphasised on in his mind anymore. they're becoming just words, and the world is becoming too general. the only thing that truly makes Sebastian shake right now is raspberry truffles and **blue scarves**, because those are not just images. they are representations of things that they can't really understand. **_beautiful, beautiful_** things. the kind of beauty that had to be highlighted, emphasised, stressed on with italics, and bolds and underlines. and colours, like blue and red and black. because sometimes, there are no words, there are just colours.

Kurt finally responds after a while. "your neck," he says in a way that Sebastian doesn't quite expect.

"my neck," Sebastian repeats, rolling his eyes. "all this and you choose my fucking _neck_?"

"yes," Kurt's smile is bright.

"what other games have you played?"

and now, Kurt looks happy, elated even, that Sebastian is asking him. Sebastian doesn't think about anyone else but Kurt anymore. because they've become each other's equals. Sebastian always has sex with Kurt when they want now. it fits like a puzzle now. everything happens now. everything's one thing smashed together. sometimes, there are words between the lines. most times, there aren't. just colours.

Kurt outlines quest to quest, and he doesn't seem apologetic about any of them. he's broken so many hearts, played with so many different things, and Sebastian listens to them like they're stories. then, only then, after Kurt's done had Sebastian asked. "do i bore you?"

"sometimes," Kurt murmurs in full honesty. Sebastian likes that about Kurt, no matter how disgusting or revolting the truth is, Kurt would say it without a care in the world, as he doesn't care about reactions. Kurt looks up at Sebastian when he says this. he's honestly shocked that Sebastian's asked him that question.

Sebastian then finally asks. "then why don't you get rid of me if i bore you so much?"

Kurt doesn't seem to think about it, blurts out the words that are dancing on his tongue. "because whenever i decide i'm bored with you, you…surprise me," he smiles at the last bit. "you're different. you don't care about the fact that i am a psychopath. that i am unlovable."

"i **love** you," Sebastian says in a most definite manner. "i'm in **love** with you," and in that moment, butterflies fly in his stomach again.

Kurt stares at him for the longest of time, as if he hasn't expected this either. "why?" he asks.

"because you're beautiful." he's put it in words that Kurt would understand. because the world doesn't exist as long as Kurt does, because Kurt's become the world, because the thought of living without Kurt makes Sebastian's heart ache. Because the blood that's running through his veins is _too_ cold and his circulation stops when he stares at Kurt, for that second, everything's frozen. time doesn't exist. people don't exist. there's only Kurt, and his eyes. and his beauty.

"most men hate the word beautiful. it sounds feminine, but what i've come to realise," Kurt begins, "is that when you're passing by and you see something that astounds you, you'd call it beautiful. pretty is a feminine word. handsome is a masculine word. but beautiful is a word you use when the thing you're staring at blows you away so much that you can't begin to understand what it is, much less identify its gender. it is limitless. it's what makes existence a lovely living."

"_you're_ beautiful," Sebastian repeats again.

Kurt's lips twitch. "_too_ kind again," he says, not realising he's contradicting himself all the time. or maybe he does. his blue eyes glitters like they're holding secrets.

"lie to me," Sebastian demands. "tell me that you fucking **love** me. i know it's a lie but i need to hear it. pathetic, don't you think?"

"you crave deception. you crave to create an alternate reality where i truly do **love** you," Kurt assesses with those intelligent eyes of his. they glow in the darkness. they're eating pizza and it tastes stale. "you want to fool yourself because you want to believe that this is all for something. that i've taken you away from your home and family because of some epic romantic tragedy that must be written. that i'm not just a selfish prick and you're not just the victim of this horrendous charade we're playing together."

Sebastian stares at him for the longest of time. "you promised." he says after a while. "you _promised_ you'd take care of me."

Kurt's eyes are fixed, the blueness disappears, and they become almost clear orbs, like diamonds – only much more beautiful to truly have a name of something that exists. "i **love** you." it's the most magical thing Sebastian's heard in his life. it sounds so sincere. there's no hollowness. Sebastian knows it's a ruse, because Kurt's eyes harden the second he's said it and he's more invested in his pizza.

"i trust you," Sebastian's eyes are hard as they look down and pepperoni and olives.

"why?" Kurt asks again, sipping water from the bottle. he's interested in the way that Sebastian thinks, Sebastian realises.

"because you promised you'd take care of me," it seems so clear in his mind, no jagged lines. he'd do anything for Kurt, because he loves him. in Kurt's mind, in a world where love does not exist, nothing exists without a motive. that's what motivates Kurt to do the things that he does. now Sebastian's playing too, mapping out an entire idea in his head.

"what if I break that promise?" Kurt says, apparently amused by Sebastian's thought process.

"believe me, babe, you won't," Sebastian says with a twitch of a smirk on his lips.

"why not?"

Sebastian shrugs this time. "i interest you," he finally says. "the other whores you must've been with – _too_ simple-minded, huh? _too_ stupid to keep around. you don't **love** me. you never will. i'm just a game to you, but you're interested in what i have to say, because i'm not just stupid whore that's going to tell you that you're a crazy whore. i'm probably the only sore loser that ever even thought of **loving** you."

Kurt thinks about it for some time. "yes, i cannot **love**," he finally says. "like some people don't have the ability to produce blood sugar, i have the inability to **love**. your **love** for me is unconditional. it is the **love** of a parent to a child. _it simply exists_. it makes you reckless. i thought that i had you figured out, that you will be one of _those_ people that are bent on trying to teach me how to **love**, those stupid mindless drones that don't understand the meaning of **_unable_** – but you've just said it yourself, you realise that _no matter what you do, i will never love you_. your thought process is greater than i realise. yes, your love for me is unconditional but it's your…let's just say that you are a rubik's cube. when i believe that one side is perfect, the other one becomes disorientated."

Sebastian stares at him for a moment, just for a moment. "you don't believe in God."

"i don't believe in God," Kurt repeats the statement.

Sebastian chalks a smile, like he's always known and he has. "what in fuck's name are we doing, Kurt? are you just gonna shoot me up with fucking heroin until i die? make my life have no purpose at all when we're just sitting here?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but then smiles. "as i've said, people will one day realise that their lives are useless.. so why bother?"

Sebastian's response seems to make Kurt's eyes light up like he's just realised something astounding. "you've said it yourself, Kurt, life is only as profound as you make it. i don't have any fucking layers. _you just keep making them up_. you think that i'm this whole big Rubik's cube, but i'm really fucking simple. i'm just some stupid boy lost in this stupid fucking cosmos that's in love with some psychopath. i get high because you got me used to it. it's stupid human response. i have sex. i breathe. i laugh. i am like every other fucker on this planet, but the thing is: i admit that i'm like them. that i contradict myself all of the fucking time. and believe me, i'm not ashamed of it. people will live their lives because they fucking can. you get me high because you fucking can. don't act like you're not searching for something to give you that high – you like watching me get high because you crave that. you're just as stupid as i am. i crave love. you crave some high. fine?"

Sebastian then smirks. "and you said, Kurt, that dreams are there to be unattainable, because if you attain them, then what's the point of fucking dreaming? getting lost in the clouds you constantly chase. that high, but it's pointless. it's all pointless but i'm doing the same because you know, those small moments when you actually feel something…something you can't really fucking understand…that's when, that's when it's all so fucking worth it."

Kurt's silent for a while. "then you must know that in you, exists my dream. of that thrill," he abandons his last slice of pizza just to wander over to Sebastian and kiss him as hard as possible. their lips are raw with swollen redness. Sebastian laughs.

"and in you, exists a whole fucking fantasy," Sebastian laughs.

"that's such a **_beautiful _**thing to say," Kurt finally admits. he sounds like he's blown away, as they kiss each other in a way that two boys that **love** each other kiss. Kurt pulls away just to take in Sebastian's breath, the feel of his more padded body around him. Sebastian's no longer dying. he's still doing the heroin but he's helping himself and Kurt finds that so fucking interesting. Sebastian knows it too, that Kurt finds it interesting that Sebastian's challenging everything Kurt's ever known. "you're **_beautiful_**, Sebastian."

for a boy that believes in beauty, he cannot **love**. Sebastian's never thought about that before. he watches Kurt all the time. Sebastian realises things. he's always been some sort of game to Kurt to unravel. as long as there were still threads to be woven in and an image to be created, Kurt will always keep prodding. Kurt knows that Sebastian knows this too. it's Kurt's fault, his weakness, and Kurt's astounded that Sebastian's figured that out _too_. one night, Kurt finally sits in bed with him, and he says things, sad things. things that are _too_ much.

they go on the lines of this:

_my Mother died when i was young. i looked into her face and thought i saw an angel. i did not believe in angels, but i did believe that when something is so pure, it should be called an angel. and she was pure. a shade of pure grey. it was like she's truly lived the best when she's died, like she's only ever felt the world at the tips of her hands when she could not feel it._

_i thought i was in love once. then i realised i was fooling myself. that boy – his name is Blaine – died of complications of cancer. i think that his disease has only made him look better. i'd never seen a colour like that in his eyes. there's something about desperation that creates frailness, sometimes things that are most fragile – glass, diamonds, hearts – can be the most beautiful things in the world…_

_…Blaine was so sick… i swore i could snap him in half…_

_…**November ninth**, that's when he died. they cried for him. i smiled like he was meeting a friend…_

_…i thought of why they put flowers on graves. they said that they represented eternal love. to that day, i swore i'd never put a flower on a grave. because there is no _**love**_. but i believe in eternity. some things are just eternal…_

_…i broke a blonde's heart once. he never forgave me. i honestly hold no care in the world…_

_…when a small dog had died, i made a grave for him. it was the most **beautiful** thing i'd ever created…_

_…sometimes, i have fantasies of killing myself…_

_…at a young age, i realised that the best part of the movie, the book, is the ending. because if the movie was horrendous but the ending was beautiful, it makes everything worth it. i wanted to write the perfect ending…_

_…i realised, long ago, that i'm inhuman, but that's quite fine. i was told that demons were inhuman things. but they seem to have forgotten that angels were inhuman too…_

_…i have no flaws. i am a vessel of perfect science, literature and reason. i am the clever that exists when feelings do not get in the way. i am not average. i am simply perfect. however, they think that this is arrogance. this is mere fact. perfection only exists when excess things don't, and those excess things are mere emotion. my mind is not biased. i hold nothing but reason. and with reason, comes **beautiful **things…_

Kurt tells him everything about his life.

_we all only exist to die. but sometimes, i want my death to be perfect. so i have dreams of thrills. of feeling that one final thrill, of being tricked, astounded by **beauty**, as i lie there dying…_

and some things about his dreams. they're all morbid things, Sebastian realises, but Kurt's a morbid creature. he stares at Kurt as he sleeps now. they're close by each other. Sebastian's back to his original weight by now. he's back to being snarky, but there's something different in him, some sort of emptiness there. Kurt stares at the scale, that one-sixty, and then looks up to see Sebastian smirking. Kurt seems impressed. "you simply got off the heroin and simply got your life back on track."

"no, i simply understood," Sebastian calls out, his eyes hard.

"so now that you've regained all senses, look like the way society thinks is sexy, you're just going to leave now?" Kurt asks. there's no spite anymore. just inquiry. Sebastian knows he's grown on Kurt, that Kurt honestly doesn't want him to leave because then he'd have nothing to play with.

"you despise loneliness," Sebastian finally says. "that's what makes you human."

Kurt stares at Sebastian for the longest of time. "in fact, you gave me that heroin just to stare at my thrill, believe that you have complete and utter control of me. but also, you did it because you're so fucking lonely in this goddamned miserable world. you don't think anyone will fucking understand anything of you. that they'll just see you as some crazy bastard that doesn't know what he's talking about, but i _see_ you. i _feel_ for _you_ in ways i can't fucking understand. _that's_ **love**."

"then i _must_ be in **love** then," it's not **_beautiful_**, the way he's said it, it's not look-into-your-eyes soulful confession love, but it's enough to make the butterflies in his stomach compress again. whatever Kurt is, it's enough for Sebastian, it's _too_ much for Sebastian. it's _too **beautiful**_.

Kurt snorts. "this conversation is senseless."

"no, you just despise confusion."

Kurt's eyes glitter. "it's like i'm an open book," Kurt finally realises. "you know what i'm going to say, how i feel – you know more about me than i do," Kurt realises. then his eyes are hard as he stares at Sebastian for the longest of time. Sebastian doesn't even realise how he's gotten out of the habit of shooting up heroin. he just does. sometimes, time blurs. Sebastian had wanted to think, so he spends two days puking out his guts until he can't think, seeing delirious things, and then he doesn't remember much. his mind had flickered to heroin but another part of him can't bear to think about it anymore. now, he's himself again, with the same skin. now, he's not under Kurt's control but they're still playing a game. some game. a **_beautiful_** game, Sebastian's recently realised. "do i bore you?"

"no," Sebastian smirks, 'because sometimes, you surprise me."

Kurt doesn't really understand these emotions that are plaguing him. he lies awake in bed, and he's completely interested. his mind is trying to work, trying to figure out how to fit the pieces, the puzzle at hand. Sebastian doesn't tell him to go to sleep. "i thought you **loved** me," Kurt responds, rolling his eyes. "shouldn't you tell me to rest?"

"why tell you to do something you're not going to do unless i fucking kill you?"

"valid point," and that leads Kurt to thinking even more. he tries to contrast a new game. he stews away the heroin and looks at Sebastian's body, trying to find limits on how to break Sebastian – how to kill him.

that morning, when Kurt wakes up, he finds himself walking around the house. then late at night, he smells something _familiar_. it's the smell of raspberry truffles. he walks towards them, staring at them and laughs. Sebastian's standing by the counter, staring at Kurt. "you believe that the world is going to end just as it begins," Sebastian simply states, there's nothing to argue and Kurt nods his head.

"of course," Kurt shrugs, as he picks up a raspberry truffle.

"_you're_ my world. _i_ _should_ be yours," Sebastian simply states.

"_should_ be, but isn't," Kurt finally says, as he allows the delicious raspberry truffle to slide down his throat and picks up another one. Kurt notices that Sebastian's wearing his **blue scarf**. senseless senses fly around the room, erupting in Kurt's chest. he drops the raspberry truffle as he realises his chest is tightening. he feels faint, extremely so. Kurt collapses on the ground and realises the shade of raspberry on the truffle isn't quite raspberry. Kurt looks up to see Sebastian kneeling beside him. Kurt is laughing. he's laughing and he coughs. he's never felt such a high. Kurt should've known, but he hadn't. he doesn't really understand Sebastian enough to realise that Sebastian would kill him with a poisonous raspberry truffle. Sebastian leans down and pulls his scarf around Kurt's neck.

"your neck is the most beautiful part of you _too_," Sebastian finally says, as he tightens the **blue scarf** around Kurt.

Kurt laughs again and now, his chest is tightening far too quickly. "i thought you **loved** me then?"

"i do," Sebastian finally says. "i **love** you, Kurt. and the only way you i make you understand is to show you how **_beautiful_ **it is. this is…your **_beautiful_**. i _understand_. it fucking has to be this way."

Kurt smiles. he doesn't think he's ever had someone understand him so well. Sebastian hears the most **_beautiful _**words that Kurt's ever said.

_"this is the closest i've ever felt to love."_

Sebastian stares for a while, a long while. the world is Kurt's eyes. Sebastian should be Kurt's world _too_. in that moment, he is. he's dying because of him. he's at his most **_beautiful _**because of him. in Kurt's mind, this is all perfect. all of it. Sebastian realises this _too_. _too._ the world's become far _too_ strange but all _too **beautiful **_at the same time. at that funeral, Sebastian would lie another mass of **blue scarves** on the grave. not flowers. the world is only profound if you give meaning to it. the scarves are only perfect because Sebastian has given meaning to them, the meaning of Kurt Hummel – a lucid idea that nobody else would understand but Sebastian, a concept of a corrupted kind of **_beauty_**.

in every **_beauty_**, there is corruption. and Kurt is **_beautiful _**enough to see that in the most corrupted things lies the most **_beautiful _**things.

Kurt's never believed in **love**. he believes in promises. and Sebastian's kept his promise. _but love isn't a promise, _or so society says. but it's wrong. Because **love** is an eternal promise. flowers represent eternal **love**. but the colours in Kurt's eyes as they shut – in that eternal moment, are of that a _promise_. and time doesn't matter again, because that promise will last forever. it is _infinite_.

"i know," Sebastian whispers as he watches all the colour drain from Kurt's face. because no colour in the world can do him justice. he swears he's never seen a lovelier tragedy. "i promised."

_and then, it all meant everything._

* * *

_xo Peanut Butter/Sam_


End file.
